


Cold Little Heart

by parrillawilson



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass (2007)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Lyra will Manipulate tf out of Mrs. Coulter, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, all the while manipulating her in return, and she'll let her, s2 spoilers, that gives us all of the feels, we love a toxic mother-daughter relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parrillawilson/pseuds/parrillawilson
Summary: “Hello, Lyra.” A soft, unthreatening smile touched the corners of Mrs. Coulter’s lips. Her gaze was light and gentle, whilst her insides constricted to swallow the raw panic radiating from her daughter. “Hush now,” she breathed, "You're safe."-Marisa Coulter finds her daughter, Lyra, asleep in the canyon near Cittàgazze. A conversation ensues that will change everything. Will she bring her child home?(Spoilers for S2 Ep7)
Relationships: Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 114





	1. Believe (In You and I)

“Hello, Lyra.” A soft, unthreatening smile touched the corners of Mrs. Coulter’s lips. Her gaze was light and gentle, whilst her insides constricted to swallow the raw panic radiating from her daughter. “Hush now,” she breathed, "You're safe." Her overly-sweetened voice was blanketed by a tender warmth, contrasting her tight hold around the child’s chin. “I’m here. Your mother is here now. You needn’t be afraid of whatever nightmares were swarming through that overly-imaginative head of yours.”

  


“This – _This_ is a nightmare. I’m dreaming. You en’t really here.”

  


“Oh, Lyra, darling…” A chill brushed over the woman’s tone, a dusted coating, instinctual protection against the undeniable disgust from the younger brunette. “Don’t upset yourself. You’re alright. Let me protect you, and you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.”

  


“No. No…” The girl, always so young and childlike in Marisa’s eyes, pulled back against the golden-tipped fingers and flinched from the following caress of her dark, tangled locks. “Will? Will!” There was a fresh fury within Lyra’s deep brown eyes as they connected with Mrs. Coulter’s cool blue. Ice would always snuff out a flame. “What’ve you done to Will? If you’ve hurt him, I’ll – I’ll kill you!”

  


A light, tinkling laugh of amusement danced through the air between them and the child sucked in a breath as golden-furred arms compressed around a slim ermine form, not yet fully alert from their slumber. “I haven’t seen your little friend. Now stop this silly tantrum and let me look at you. Are you hurt?” Mrs. Coulter felt her eye twitch as the girl, once again, flinched from her gentle touches, gasping and grunting as she pulled herself on all fours away from the one person who vowed to protect her against all else.

  


“Get away from me. Let us go! Pan!” Wild brown eyes burned in the direction of the two daemons, “Pan! ... Reina, Queen Reina!” Her head flapped from side to side.

  


Marisa sighed, eyes rolling in exasperation. Could she not call out for her? Just once more. It was all she had dreamt of; that day she had rescued her from the machine that was not ready for such a special child. She imagined all the ways they would reunite again and Lyra would need her, more than ever. She would call out for her mother again. Every ideal was romanticised in her mind. The reality was not so perfect. Nails pierced the skin of her palm.

  


“Lyra.” Her cold tone freezing over, the woman shared a meaningful look with her daemon, who kept Pan’s wriggling, snowy form trapped in a firm hold. “Lyra, you will only hurt yourself. Come now.” Mrs. Coulter could feel her child slipping from her once more. That awful loss of control that had her daemon grasping the smaller being tighter, prompting another groan from the stubborn girl, who scratched at the sandy ground to reach the deceased witch.

  


“No. The spectres … they–” Lyra’s eyes widened and she panted through her words, flipping herself over and watching as her mother approached, as a predator might stalk her prey. “They didn’t hurt you. Why didn’t they hurt you?”

  


“Do you want them to hurt me?” It was a question spoken lightly. Mrs. Coulter's head tilted to the side as she crouched beside the girl once more. Her daemon dragged Pan closer to the pair and she acknowledged the surprise in his grey face with a level stare of her own before returning her undivided attention to her daughter. “Do _you_ want to hurt me?”

  


“I didn’t – I don’t … I –”

  


“Hushhhh,” Fingers threaded through dirty locks, untangling them with great care before threading through again and again. “I forgive you.” Her eyes fell to the shivering ermine pinned between the dirt and the soft belly of her monkey. The fact Lyra’s daemon had not fought back so ferociously as the last time they met had not been missed by the woman. “What you do not understand, is that I would never have shown such bravery against my own mother. She frightened me. I do not wish for you to be frightened. You must be strong. You are special.” Again, her darling child had her opening herself up in ways she would never dream of for anyone else, not even the girl’s own father, who had caught her heart thirteen years prior.

  


“Your mother hurt you?” Whatever flicker of emotions passed through the girl’s eyes, it caused Mrs. Coulter’s gut to tighten and, for a mortifying moment, she thought she might vomit.

  


“That is not important now.” The words were carried by a barely audible whisper. The golden monkey whimpered sorrowfully. Mrs. Coulter bit down hard on her own tongue. A metallic sensation filled her senses as she continued, “You have to understand me. Everything I have done has been to keep you safe. I will never stop doing as such. I will do whatever it takes to protect you, make no mistake there. You are going nowhere without me. Not again, not ever. I will not lose you again!” The wild woman watched as her panicked daughter’s eyes grew impossibly wide and her own deepened voice echoed through the empty canyon. A glance sideways and she noticed her daemon’s black, human-like fingers grasping Pan’s neck all too tightly. “You’ve pushed me to no other option.” The hand that wasn’t clinging to her child moved reluctantly to the pocket of her khaki green trousers. “You will sleep. You will be peaceful. I—”

  


“Wait!” The strangled breath of a shout erupted with enough passion to halt the mother in her tracks.

  


Concerned by his human’s hesitation, the golden monkey let out a fearsome yowl and squeezed Pan tighter, ignoring the weakened squeaks from the smaller daemon.

  


“ _Stop!_ ” Moisture sprayed from Mrs. Coulter’s mouth with the sheer ferocity a single word could hold and the once formidable daemon jolted as though kicked, allowing Pan room to breathe easier despite the locked hold. “Lyra...” With a tightly stretched smile and a slight shake of her head, she calmed. “You keep running from me. I give you everything. I give you a glamorous home, delicious food, a comfortable bed. I offer you knowledge and power and still, it isn’t enough for you?” Despite her accusing words, they held no resentment but a pure, vulnerable longing for her child to want her in the same way she yearned for her child. Her fingers slipped into her pocket. “You’ve left me no choice. I must—”

  


“I’ll come with you!”

  


“What?”

  


“I promise, I won’t run. I’ll be good, you’ll see. I’ll be the perfect daughter. You can look after me. You can protect me without doing … _that_.” The child’s bulging eyes dropped to watch her hand and Mrs. Coulter felt a rush of a strange emotion that Lyra had awoken inside of her when she had embraced her so unexpectedly in Jordan College. A feeling that laid dormant for twelve years beforehand.

  


“ _Lyra_.” The name of her only child would always be spoken with more love than Marisa could ever figure out how to express in words, “After running from me countless times and destroying my life’s work, at our last meeting, when I had hoped to take you home, you ran from me again. Just minutes ago, when I found you so peacefully asleep, you wanted me gone. Do you know how that feels? How can I trust a single word you say when you lie instinctively?” Her voice had dropped dangerously low and unsteady, blue eyes welling with tears.

  


“I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you. Pan and I, we were afraid. We still are, but we want to trust you now.” There was a pause as Lyra’s small hands reached for her own, pulling her palm away from the vial-shaped bulge in her pocket and towards the girl’s soft cheek. Mrs. Coulter ignored the growl from her daemon, a warning. They had been here before, at The Station, where the little girl had taken hold of her heart and then made her feel all kinds of pain she had not felt since she was first denied access to her daughter. Physical pain would never break her. Lyra had the power to inflict much worse on the beating organ within her ribcage. It was open only for her.

  


A sigh slipped through lips, parted in wonder, as they always where when she found herself watching Lyra. “You’ll come home with me?”

  


“I’ll come home with you … Mother.”

  


Marisa gazed hopelessly into warm brown eyes. Beautiful, angelic, _manipulative_ eyes. Her thumb traced her daughter’s jawbone. Lyra could do anything, say anything to her if only she would hear that sweet title again. “My child,” she whispered, her free hand petting shoulder-length, brunette strands. “Let's go home.” She stood, pulling Lyra up with her and then gestured for the Golden Monkey to release Pan. He stared back at her defiantly and, narrowing her eyes, she approached him. “Let him go.” Blue eyes greyed like a hurricane at sea and her voice quietened for only him to hear, “Trust me.” Reluctantly, the daemon hopped backwards away from Pan. With a small nod from Mrs. Coulter, he remained close, his beady eyes never once leaving the red-furred panda as they took the first of many steps towards Cittàgazze.

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading Chapter 1! This fic (when it is completed) is my take on what happened between Lyra waking up in the canyon and finding herself in a drugged sleep inside a trunk. I expect there to be another one or two chapters to follow this. As I'm a teacher and it's currently the holidays, I hope to have this fic completed by Christmas! Please comment and let me know your thoughts so far!


	2. All My Life (I've Been Playing Games)

The bright, burning sun had begun to set on another day, flooding the rocky canyon in a brilliant orange as the town of Cittàgazze towered ahead. The Golden Monkey slammed his paw down on a large beetle as it crossed his path. Grunting irritably to himself, he scraped bony fingers along the dry ground, smearing black mush over dusty brown. Pantalaimon bounded a few paces ahead, his red and white fur puffy. The younger daemon’s nose twitched as he remained close to his human, straying only a few feet to sniff curiously at all the landmarks they passed. Lyra, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, kept glancing from side to side in search of her troublesome friends, perhaps believing herself subtle. Mrs Coulter would play along with whatever game her daughter intended to play if it meant a few hours with her child willingly by her side.

“Don’t look so afraid, my dear, we’re the only two out here now. You do know the spectres are rather harmful towards adults?” she asked, unable to resist a smirk as she toyed with her, using the same patronisingly playful tone she had used in London, months ago. Of course, she knew. She had seen the witch's body, after all. 

“Oh. I en't afraid. I just thought–”

“You thought you might find your new friend, the boy? If we run into him on our travels, he will be welcome to join us, but we must keep going. The sun is setting and it will be dark soon.” It was impossible for the brunette to keep the threatening edge from her tone when mentioning the other child. It felt as though history might repeat itself. A boy coming between herself and her daughter. It simply would not do. “You promised to trust me, Lyra. Can I trust you?”

“You can trust me.” Two steady gazes met, only breaking to navigate the uneven terrain.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Coulter neared her child. The girl’s reluctance, her pretense, as transparent to her intelligent mother as the tense air between them, remained masked by the child to all but her. Lyra’s belief that the same ploy would fool her twice gave the woman an opportunity to enjoy having her daughter close, no matter how artificial. The minuscule specks of maternal feeling hidden within her were more powerful than she could ever have imagined. Underestimated. She would claim Lyra’s fleeting love, deceptive or not, and their ending would be the girl’s own choice.

“What should we do now?” asked the child, her apparent dependence bringing a subtle smile to Marisa’s lips. If only she knew her child was anything but. Denial had a vice grip.

“Well, I thought you might show me where you’ve been staying, out here all alone? We can rest until morning, talk some more, perhaps?” Head tilted in the girl’s direction, the woman's hair fell across her shoulders as bouncy and touchable as ever whilst pink lips stretched upwards, her eyes shining in the fading light.

“I s’pose. Yeah. Watch out for the spectres though, there en’t adults in the city ’cause of them. I _know_ they're harmful.”

“You needn’t worry, my dear. They don’t frighten me.”

Mrs. Coulter had crafted her child all too well, despite her absence during her childhood, and viewed her as an impressive extension of herself. Free, naturally intelligent, and _special_. So much so that she found it a challenge to discern whether the girl was entirely genuine in any of her words or actions. All she knew with absolute certainty, was that her darling daughter had inherited her own nature in more ways than either of them fully understood. They were playing a dangerous game with no rule book. Such games could be deadly. Luckily for the master manipulator, she had been playing games for far longer than Lyra had been alive.

“You _should_ be scared," Lyra replied with a furrowed brow. "They suck out your soul, leaving you lifeless. You go on existing, but everything that makes you human is gone. Doesn’t that scare you even a little? You _are_ human...” A vulnerability was woven into the girl’s soft voice, an undeniable pleading for Marisa to show more of her humanity than she cared to.

“Shh…” A gentle hand fell to rest against against Lyra’s shoulder, caressing tenderly. The girl flinched away from her touch, the action squeezing Marisa's lungs as she inhaled, “You’re upsetting yourself. I’m fine. You’re fine. We are both _fine_ now.” Reassuring her daughter was proving to be more of an exhausting feat than she had assumed. “Let’s talk about something else. What would you like to ask me?”

“Is _that man_ with you?” Disgust leaked from the child’s lips as she kicked at some loose stones. They had left the canyon and were navigating through the dense leaves of the forest, nearing the city ahead.

“No.” A heavy exhale whooshed through barely parted lips. She would be sure to guide Lyra to prevent any unfortunate meetings with Carlo’s corpse. That would certainly trigger insufferable behaviour from the child. The witch, who had met her own end in Lyra’s temporary home, had been removed. However, Marisa drew the line at touching, let alone attempting to lift, Carlo Boreal’s unpleasant body _anywhere_.

“Where is he?”

“Lyra, please don’t kick out like that, you’ll scuff your … shoes.” Her nose crinkled in distaste, eyes glancing sharply down at the dirty, ugly replacements of the beautiful black, polished shoes she had provided for her daughter in London. “Lyra…” Another sigh, this was not how she intended their time together to be spent, especially not when it could be cut short at any moment, the ball in her daughter’s court. “I dislike Carlo as strongly as you, perhaps more strongly. I assure you of that. I _did_ meet a friend of yours, however, in the other Oxford. A certain … female scholar?” That caught Lyra’s attention. Mrs. Coulter watched in initial delight as the girl’s expression lit up before she bitterly processed that her interest was, yet again, bestowed upon another adult instead of her own mother.

“Mary Malone?! Did you speak to her? What did she say?”

“We spoke of you. Mrs. Malone – Doctor … Malone thought quite highly of you. She told me she ‘loved’ meeting you.” There was a clear pride to the woman’s voice as she slipped her arm possessively around the petite brunette’s shoulders. “And … she mentioned how you can read the alethiometer...”

Lyra became rigid then, as still as those whose souls had been devoured by spectres.

“I meant what I said. If you allow me to, I can teach you many ways of using its power … for good.”

“I don’t think I should. I en’t that good at reading it, not really. There en’t much to see.” A blatant lie.

A quirk of Marisa's eyebrow was shot across at Lyra, who was sharing a mysterious glance with Pantalaimon. “Later, perhaps, you may change your mind.” She rubbed the girls’ back, fingers pressing against the filthy material of her clothes. How long had she been wearing them? Finding a fresh change of clothes would be a priority once they reached the café where Lyra had been residing. “Come now, we must be near your … accommodation … hmm?”

“It’s this way.” Lyra stepped up onto the cobbled streets. Marisa watched with bated breath, allowing her child to lead a pace ahead of her as she chose their path. The Golden Monkey neared Pan as the mother was forced to loosen her grip around the young woman. Displaying trust was a challenge, but necessary if they were to avoid drastic actions. A silent, long breath was exhaled through thin lips as Lyra chose the route leading away from Carlo’s corpse. Smiling to herself with a slight shake of her head, Marisa followed her down narrow pathways as her daemon allowed Pan a little more freedom.

“You _have_ done well for yourself here,” Mrs. Coulter encouraged once they reached their destination, as though she hadn’t sat in that very home, embracing Lyra’s coat as though it were a newborn only hours earlier. Her exaggerated pride was morphed with a patronising tone that she did not acknowledge her daughter might be too old for, “Children shouldn’t be alone. Especially not when they have a mother to care for them.” Tenderly, her fingertips grazed the soft cheek of the wide-eyed girl, so youthful despite having grown taller in their time apart. “I’ll heat the kettle, and we’ll go upstairs. See if we can find you some clean clothes.” Fingers stroked carefully down chocolate-brown locks as though they were made from china. Breakable.

Cool water flowed into the kettle before Mrs. Coulter placed it down on the hob to boil. It was a domestic act she took great pleasure in doing for her child, unlike how when in London, she had her kitchen staff do all of the work. Now, she would take care of Lyra herself. Never again would she allow anyone close to her. _Anyone_ could be aware of the witches' prophecy and mean to do her harm.

It was a test, of sorts, allowing the adept runaway a moment with her own back turned. There was no real risk. The Golden Monkey had crouched and was prepared to pounce at any given moment, but it remained an opportunity where Lyra could run if she wished, fuelled by Marisa’s own twisted curiosity. Instead of attempting an escape, the child remained still, her daemon’s ermine form nestled within her arms. Turning from the kettle, Mrs. Coulter found a genuine smile lifting not only her expression but her fragile heart, as The Golden Monkey growled lowly, fearful of any true trust his human offered to the child of prophecy.

Minutes later, Lyra was seated on her small bed in the corner of the first-floor room, knees up to her chest as her mother draped a blanket around her shoulders.

“Now, let’s see if there is anything that would fit you in here…” Moving towards a large trunk filled with clothes set at the foot of the bed, the woman dropped to a crouch, rummaging through all sorts of outfits to find one fitting for her daughter. “This will do.” Folding the clothes, she then placed them on the pillow and seated herself gingerly beside Lyra, her steady gaze watching to see whether she would lean away or not. Instead of bolting, the girl tensed, Pantalaimon hopping over his human's lap to the side furthest from The Golden Monkey. “Oh, Lyra,” she sighed, petting the child’s warm cheek. “I know you’re nervous. You needn’t be.” Her voice held the same low softness it had in Bolvangar when they had last sat together in another world. “You made a wise choice, choosing to come willingly. Continue to choose as such and we can be a family. A real family, you and I. Look at me. _Look at me_.” One hand stuck to Lyra’s cheek, as the other guided her face towards her own, their stares mirroring intensity. “You are my daughter. I wouldn’t hurt you. Ask it. Go on. Ask the alethiometer.” There was a certain feral, loss of control in the way Marisa made a grab for her child’s bag, the accessory equally as infuriating as Lyra's beloved shoulder bag had been, a space to conceal and hide things from her mother. “Ask it. Ask if I mean to do you harm, whether I have any intentions other than for your safety. Ask it anything you wish. Do it now, and you will see the truth once and for all.” A growl in her ear grounded her and she drew back, calmly, allowing Lyra to make her own choice, while her daemon eyed up Pan’s miniature form.

“Okay.” Lyra’s voice remained steady as she pulled the gleaming, golden contraption from its velvety pouch.

Awe-struck, Mrs. Coulter admired the alethiometer, leaning as close to her daughter’s shoulder as she dared. It was beautiful, but she herself could not read it, did not want it in the way she wanted Lyra. If anything, her offering it up to the child in Carlo’s basement was proof of that. The girl could read it now without fear she would snatch it from her. Without her child, the golden compass was useless to her. Enraptured by the magnificence of the object so few held ownership of, she almost missed the sudden gasp from her child's parted lips. “Lyra?” Once again, her attention was held by the girl she wished she could have raised, to mold and shape. Maybe then she would never have run away, she would have stayed with her mother without the need for manipulation or mind games. “What is it?” Mrs. Coulter asked desperately. Lyra's smaller hand had grabbed her arm, though Pantalaimon jolted away from the Golden Monkey’s outstretched finger. “Lyra?” The barely audible whisper drifted from Marisa's open lips, as she covered the girl’s hand with one of her own, the other caressing the side of Lyra’s head as the young woman fixed her with a stare so deep it might hold a thousand feelings, too many for a woman so emotion-starved to comprehend. “Darling? What did the alethiometer tell you? What question did you ask it? Tell me...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Apologies for ending on a slight cliffhanger - but I plan to have the third and final chapter completed either tomorrow or Christmas Eve, so you won't have long to wait. The final chapter will be the most dramatic of the three, it will be a rush of many emotions and, in the words of Ruth Wilson, explosive.


	3. Losing You (One Day at a Time)

Moonlight flooded the room where Mrs. Coulter and her daughter sat, illuminating the young girl’s pale face against the surrounding darkness. Her large, dark eyes stared into nothing, as war raged just beneath the veil. The mother caressed her child’s skin with more care than even the white light reflecting off the moon of Cittàgazze. “What did the alethiometer tell you? What did you ask?” Her voice was as sweet and melodic as one might use to soothe an infant, coax them into listening, to obey.

Mrs. Coulter watched Lyra unblinkingly, staring at the girl as though she might disappear at any moment. The child swallowed heavily, faintly audible in the stillness of an abandoned city, and shook her head. “I asked it if you mean to hurt me. The alethiometer said no. You don’t want to hurt me.” The beautiful, wide smile that brightened the child’s expression sent a shockwave straight through to Marisa’s heart so forcibly that she refused to question the authenticity of it, nor acknowledge the fear she recognised only from gazing into the mirror as a child herself.

“That’s right.” As her chest danced with a feeling so rare to a woman who found hiding her humanity as easy as breathing, she cupped her daughter’s cheeks as gently as she would her most valuable possession. Her smile reached her eyes, which twinkled whilst she gazed upon the girl’s sweet face. “It’s just as I told you. I only want to protect you.”

“I know…”

Was that a twinge of sadness hidden within the child’s tone? Again, overlooked. Discarded. For the first time since she knew of their relation, Marisa’s child was smiling at her. Nothing else mattered. “Good.”

For a long, peaceful moment, the mother lost herself in her daughter's eyes, petting her hair, her face, adjusting the blanket draped around the girl’s shoulders and rubbing her hands up and down because wasn’t that what mothers did? Did they not ensure their child’s absolute comfort?

“Mother?”

“Yes?” Was she dreaming? The Golden Monkey cooed gently and approached Pantalaimon, moving behind Mrs. Coulter and Lyra to the foot of the bed. His human-like hand reached out to trace a feather-light stroke down the ermine’s nose, a rusty show of affection that he seemed quite unsure about.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth when I asked you who my mother was?” Lyra’s question was delivered as bluntly as ever, whilst her hands came to rest over her mother’s larger, slender ones, pulling them away from her face as her expression settled into a serious, sorrowful stare.

As though Lyra's skin was made of flames, Mrs. Coulter broke the connection briskly, ripping her hands free from Lyra’s grip and placing them, folded in her lap. All too formally for an evening with her young daughter, her back straightened, rigid. She opened her mouth to speak, however, sucked in a sharp breath, which burned within her lungs. With a half-shake of her head, she scoffed. “What does that matter? You know now.”

“It matters to me! I wanna know why you didn’t tell me. Were you ashamed of me? ‘Cause I came from your affair?”

“What? No!” Bending down towards the child, Marisa’s fingers wrapped around her shoulder bone, squeezing firmly. “Of course not! Lyra, you are very important to me.” As she looked deep into the brown orbs that had once, many years ago gazed so innocently up at her and had been filled with the unconditional love and trust of a newborn baby, she felt the weight of all she had missed, all she had irreversibly broken. “Lyra, I know I have failed you in the past, but I promise you, never again. _Never again_.” Gritting her teeth once the whispered words, difficult for the pride-filled woman to speak, had flown free, she leant closer. Unsure quite how to express the motherly affection she felt, that she had underestimated the strength of, she placed what she hoped was a loving kiss upon Lyra’s smooth forehead. Relaxing her jaw into a hopeful smile, she pulled back, rubbing tender circles into the apple of her daughter’s cheek. It was then that she noticed fat tears welling in the corners of the girl’s eyes. Before she could brush away fresh tear tracks with the pad of her thumb, Lyra launched at her, not to attack but to fall into her arms, leaving her breathless. Astonished. Within a second, Marisa could see nothing, for her eyes were overflowing with moisture, droplets rolling down dry cheeks. “Lyra,” she breathed shakily, arms wrapping around her child, her lifeline.

The Golden Monkey whimpered as Pan sniffed cautiously at his open paw before pressing his whole furry face against it, allowing the other daemon to pet him. Mrs. Coulter’s chest was bursting with warmth, and she wondered whether her child could feel the love she held for her. If only she knew how she would voice it aloud for her to hear. Though, Lyra was not one for believing her words. Instead, she tightened her hold and pressed a lingering kiss against her daughter’s hairline, breathing in her scent.

All too soon, she felt the girl stir in her arms. Hiding her disappointment, she forced herself to loosen her grip, expecting Lyra to slip from her grasp as she had time and time again. To her amazement, the child simply shifted, resting her temple against her mother’s chest as Pan settled against the prickling fur of The Golden Monkey. Was this part of another ploy to deceive her? Bring her to her most vulnerable before sticking the knife in? Mrs. Coulter wanted nothing more than to believe Lyra had forgiven her, that she truly trusted her, that she would stay willingly after all her doubts, without pushing her towards more drastic actions. A low growl sounded from her mute daemon’s throat and she peered at him over the fly-away mess of hair on top of her child’s head. They met each other’s hard stares. Marisa’s throat tightened, her breathing growing laboured as she reined in her frustration. Yes, she and Lyra had made their way around an unsteady board, each rolling their own dice twice when the other had their head turned. A game of two skilful liars who dodged rules. However, resting in the moonlight with her beloved child curled, half in her lap, half out of it, she wanted nothing more than to believe in Lyra, to trust in her devious daughter. Her monkey disagreed, snarling silently at her, bearing sharp teeth that would bite, _had_ bitten many times when out of sight of others, just as she would quite readily have sent her boot into his stomach had Lyra not been an obstacle to that urge.

Deciding to enjoy the moment she had craved for months, slim fingers ran through the dark mop of her child’s shoulder-length hair, untangling, smoothing, twirling a strand around her finger. She began to wonder whether Lyra would suit a neat braid and made a mental note to try it on her the following morning. It had been a lost fantasy of hers, the ability to style her daughter’s hair. Her hair had grown, as had she in height, blossoming into a beautiful young woman. Marisa oozed with barely-contained pride, temporarily free from thoughts of sin and dust and focusing only on what truly mattered; her child.

“Mother…?”

The newly-appointed title sounded much sweeter to her ears when her daughter was speaking it freely, out of any danger. “Yes, darling?” she brushed the greasy hair from the girl’s face as Lyra tilted her head upwards.

“I’m tired. I think I’ll go wash for bed. We’ve got a standing-up-bath here. My hair is filthy. I’ll take the clothes you found me to change? And … you can stay here. You can stay with me until I fall asleep if you wanna?”

“I would like that very much.” Marisa allowed for her child to slide from her arms, The Golden Monkey’s fingers closing around thin air as Pantalaimon scurried after her. With this simple action, she handed Lyra the one thing she had promised herself she would not; her genuine trust. Leaning back against the wall, a long, contented sigh was drawn out through her parted lips, which were lifted in a dream-like smile. Closing her eyes, the woman felt her daemon press his warm body against her lap, right where Lyra had sat moments ago, in an attempt to fill the void that the child had left.

It was quiet, too quiet; a silence without the rush of water from the standing-up-bath that Marisa had attempted to figure out that morning as her head pounded from the many bottles of wine she had consumed the night before.

The Golden Monkey sensed it first, through his innate ability to track down betrayal and deceit where Marisa was presently blinded by love for her child.

Since when had Lyra valued personal hygiene?

There was an abrupt clatter, the sound of pots and pans falling to the ground, the result of a clumsy stumble through the dark. Then, a familiar shout. Eyes shot open, grey in the dim light. The bright moon had hidden behind thin clouds above, shielding its vision from the devastating scenes about to come to fruition. An animalistic screech filled the air, both halves of one being unsure which vessel it had erupted from. In a flash of orange fur, The Golden Monkey shot through the open balcony door, disappearing from Mrs. Coulter’s view. With a hiss, she felt the sharp stab in her arm as her feral daemon harshly hit the ground, an unstable landing. Seemingly calm, the brunette navigated her way downstairs, making a beeline for the kettle which had long-since boiled, water lukewarm. Furious, animalistic yowls sounded from the streets outside. Meanwhile, Mrs. Coulter steadily lifted the canteen she had bought to match her outfit, pouring out the excess water and refilling it with that from the kettle. For the second time that day, her hand slipped to the vial in her pocket, however, this time, its contents were emptied into the flask. A vicious shake, mixing the liquid that would quell her rebellious child, and she was ready. Having had much practise during her childhood and throughout much of her adult life, the ambitious woman steeled her expression and left the building, guided by starlight as she prowled leisurely down the narrow paths of Cittàgazze, working seamlessly with her daemon to corner their prey.

“Lyra,” she called, her voice smooth, singsong, projected but contained. The calm before the storm. “There is nowhere for you to go.” Chuckling to herself, drawn to the edge of insanity, she turned another corner, mirroring The Golden Monkey. “There you are! I’ve found you.” Her voice lifted, as it might if she’d have raised Lyra from an infant and could entertain her with a game of hide-and-seek instead of being forced to hunt down an unruly preteen. Menacingly, she prowled towards Lyra, the child caught between the mother she had betrayed and her golden-furred daemon, who had his beady eyes set on the terrified ermine. “You really thought you could play me for a fool again? That I would not figure out your little scheme,” she spat, sneering through her words, pronouncing each consonant in a way that had made the most powerful of men shake, let alone a young girl. “Darling, I have known all along.” Never again would she allow the hateful child one single ounce of her trust or belief. Mrs. Coulter had failed once more and that knowledge cut through her entire being. This would be the last time she would make such a careless, blinded mistake.

“Stay back! Don’t come any closer!” There was a defiance to the girl’s tone. Even while trapped between the woman and her monkey with nowhere to run she remained strong.

“Was it all a lie, _Ly_ ra?” Marisa asked, emphasising the first syllable of the girl’s name bitterly.

“I didn’t. It wasn’t–”

“LIAR.” Mrs. Coulter's voice bellowed around the deserted streets as she and her daemon darted forwards, synchronised, each grasping hold of their insubordinate offspring.

“I en’t lying…” Lyra _had_ grown, and not only in height. No longer a scared preteen but a young woman, she met her mother’s glare unflinchingly, her expression fierce. Pantalaimon, in his wild cat form, clawed at The Golden Monkey’s arm, wriggling free. The two, now equal in size, hissed at one another, inches apart.

A scoff. “What did you _really_ ask your… _ale-thi-o-meter?_ ”

“It’s like I told you. I asked it if you wanted to hurt me. It said no.”

“Then why—”

“That wasn’t all it said,” Lyra interjected, one foot stepping backwards, though her captor only moved with her. “You don’t _want_ to hurt me, but you will anyway.”

“What?”

“You can’t help it. You’ll keep hurting me… I wanted to give you a chance to be better, but I can’t stay with you. I have to help Will find his father. You have to let me go!”

The older brunette channeled a surge of rage and forcibly shoved Lyra to the hard ground as her daemon pounced on the wild cat, sinking teeth into the scruff of his neck and forcing him down as well. “ _Will_ this, _Will_ that.” She shook her head. “That boy is no good for you," she snarled, viciously, towering over the girl, "I'll keep hurting you, will I? Well, what about _my_ hurt? Huh?” Squatting down, resting her elbows on top of her knees, she leant over Lyra. Her wild eyes were well-adjusted to the dark and she met the stubborn gaze of the girl who was rooted to the stone ground. “Do you have any idea what I would do to any other person who betrayed me as you have? How much _pain_ I would cause the one who dared to destroy my life’s work? … But you…” Softening her expression, she reached out to tenderly caress Lyra’s face, a fleeting moment of motherly affection before her grip tightened, nails digging into flesh, “ _You_ …” It was a surprise to her, how the girl resisted pleading or begging. A proud moment, despite everything. “You are _mine!_ ”

“I’ll never be yours!”

Marisa gasped, winded as those awful shoes of her daughter’s kicked firmly into her stomach. She fell sideways, releasing her grasp on Lyra's chin to break her fall. Pantalaimon growled, wolverine formed and larger than her own daemon. He bit sharply into the flesh of The Golden Monkey, who yowled in fury, losing his grip on the younger daemon as well. Mrs. Coulter laughed, light and beautiful, contrasting her threatening appearance as she quickly recovered, considering the girl and her daemon with a raised eyebrow. “Go on then,” she taunted, gesturing to the wolverine Pan, who snarled at the monkey, though made no move to attack. “You quite clearly wish to hurt me, so what are you waiting for?” She spread her arms wide, mockingly inviting as she smiled, sickeningly bright.

“I _don’t_ want to hurt you. I en’t like you.” The girl and her daemon shared a mournful look, Lyra with tears in her eyes. Marisa hated how all she wished to do was comfort her. _Curse_ her motherly instincts, she had preferred when she believed she had none.

“You are more like me than you’ll ever know.” With a heavy sigh, she unclipped the canteen from her side, advancing on Lyra. As expected, the young brunette resisted, kicking and snarling and spitting as though she were a feral cat and not the daughter of a glamorous, high-class woman. “You have left me with no other choice.” She dodged many of the girl’s wild kicks and punches and endured the rest. Pantalaimon screeched and bit, but The Golden Monkey was ready for him, unlike the shock attack in Carlo’s basement. The younger daemon was fierce, formidable, but firmly on the defensive. It seemed that the daughter really did not wish to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

“The alethiometer! I asked something else!” The mouth of the canteen was inches from Lyra’s own, the girl wriggling in Mrs. Coulter’s arms as her daemon lay exhausted but defiant, squirming and snapping his jaws from beneath the Golden Monkey’s monstrous form.

“What – What did you ask?”

“I asked if there was any good in you.” Lyra’s voice wavered as she spoke, her voice a low whimper, “It said – It said _I_ bring out the good in you. It said you – you love me?” It was posed as a question, though the child knew the alethiometer wouldn’t lie. “If that’s true…” She grabbed hold of her mother with one hand, the other wrapping around that which held the canteen. “If that’s true, you won’t do this. You _won’t_.”

Marisa hesitated, the broken organ inside her chest leaping up to her throat as she considered her daughter’s desperate reasoning. Tears blurred her vision and she blinked rapidly, gazing fondly into a younger mirror of her own face. “It is true,” she whispered, pulling the girl closer as The Golden Monkey wrapped tight, golden arms around Pantalaimon, a strange, controlling embrace, allowing him to turn his furry face into the older demon’s warm, orange fur. “I _do_ love you,” she admitted, watching as Lyra blinked in surprise, tears rolling down her cheeks, her body relaxing slightly in the hold. Marisa grinned then, and it took but a second for the child to realise she had been fooled into lowering her guard before the mouth of the canteen was forced into her own, the drugged concoction flowing past her lips. “I love you enough to do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Lyra choked, spluttered, even attempted to bite Mrs. Coulter’s hand, but the other held her steady, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth until the tainted liquid had been swallowed. Then, the woman allowed her child to breathe. Gasping and panting, inhaling deep gasps of oxygen, the intelligent child lifted her fingers to her throat, but her mother was quicker, faster, and could easily overpower her now that the drug had begun to gradually work its task.

What Marisa labeled as reckless stupidity sent the child scrambling to her feet, attempting to run despite the sleeping drug, and as she fell, the woman dived after her, blanketing her head from the fall. “You careless, stubborn child,” she scolded softly, cradling the weakening girl's head in her arms, lifting her so her upper body lay upon her lap.

“I’ll kill you, I swear I will,” came Lyra’s slurred speech, “I could’a loved you, if you’d been a good, normal mother. _I could’a_. But you ruin everythin’. _I hate you!_ ”

“Shhh…” Ignoring the words, which were spoken solely to pierce through the armour protecting her heart, Marisa petted her child’s clammy face until she slept. Pantalaimon, too, slept, ermine formed, in the golden arms of Mrs. Coulter's daemon. “Don’t look at me like that,” she mumbled, as The Golden Monkey approached, holding the ermine reluctantly in his outstretched arms, “I did what I had to do.” Marisa sat on the cobbled streets of Cittàgazze, holding her sleeping child to her chest until dawn began to break over the horizon. Turning to her daemon, who had placed Pan on the ground and was watching him curiously, she ordered him to, “Come,” and with great effort and immense care, she lifted her daughter’s limp body up.

The large trunk that lay at the foot of Lyra’s bed had been emptied, clothes discarded in a pile on the wooden floor. The blanket that had earlier kept her child warm now padded the base of the suitcase. Carefully, she lowered the girl inside, adjusting her for maximum comfort. The Golden Monkey placed Pan beside Marisa's sleeping daughter and then darted away, a severe, watery glare from his human having instructed him to turn, facing into the darkness. With a sharp intake of breath, Marisa shamefully realised she was sobbing. Accustomed to physical pain, the mother had hoped she could withstand all that Lyra threw at her. It seemed there was no one who could break you quite like your own child.

Emotions back in check, mere minutes of upset all she would allow herself, Marisa closed the lid, gazing softly upon the girl’s face until the click sounded. She smiled to herself, permitted her daemon to return to her side, and held his tiny hand in her own. Lyra was hers now, forever, and the cold woman's heart began to thaw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! It has completely taken over my life over the past 4 days and I have really enjoyed writing it! I hope you all have a Merry Christmas and are able to enjoy it during this very strange time.


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